Black Rose
by Fluffy White Sheep
Summary: Christine can't stand another tea party with the Queen. Neither can her daughter, Grace, stand the four-hour arithmetic drills. An old friend treats Christine and her daughter just the way they want to be. But will they stay?
1. Wanting to Leave

The Funeral

Grace de Chagny closed her eyes and softly sang the song her mother, Christine Daaé, used to softly sing to her.

"_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade..._

_Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you..._

_Masquerade! Every face a different shade..._

_Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you."_

Grace remembered that song from when Christine told her the story of the "Phantom of the Opera". Tears streamed down Grace's face as she gazed at the coffin hammered together with wooden nails.

"Grace?" said a bitter Raoul, her father, "It's time to head back home."

Raoul placed a hand on Grace's shoulder and kissed her on the forehead. "It's okay."

Raoul wiped the tears in her eyes and guided her to their horse-drawn carriage.

"Papa?" asked Grace once they got in the carriage.

Raoul didn't answer. He only gazed longingly out the window.

"Papa?" Grace asked again.

Raoul snapped his head towards her. "What?!"

"Do...you think Mother is thinking about us?"

Raoul's expression softened. "Of course, my Grace, of course."

He hugged her but looked away so he couldn't see the tears rolling down his face.

Nighttime

It was midnight, but Grace still hadn't gone to sleep. She was gazing into the wide, open fields beyond their mansion.

Tears sprang out of her eyes and she wiped them away, remembering her mother's last words, _Be strong. _

"Are you okay?" asked a voice behind her.

Grace didn't respond, but assumed it was her father. She turned around, and saw a young boy her age standing behind her. He had dark black hair and soft brown eyes. He wore all black.

"Who are you?" She asked, still whispering.

"I mustn't say." He said. "All I need is you to come. With me."

"Why?" asked Grace. The room had suddenly become cold.

"You will be able to see your mother."

With that, Grace jumped off her bed. "Lead me!"

The boy nodded, and grabbed her hand. "Concentrate. Look at the portrait of your mother."

She concentrated hard. A silver mist spread around the portrait and, slowly, it opened.

"Watch your step." said the boy. He placed a chair under the portrait and climbed inside, motioning for Grace to follow him.

Grace stepped through the portrait and the boy swatted it closed.

A long, dark passage led to a door. The boy snapped his fingers and torches lit up.

He reached under his shirt and pulled out a large key tied tightly to a chain.

He grabbed Grace's hand and ran to the door and unlocked the door. It led to a misty river which had a single ebony canoe floated, a thick rope keeping it to the shore. The boy stepped into the boat and helped Grace in.

The boy grabbed a paddle that was in a locked barrel and pushed off the rock.

"Who are you?" asked Grace. "I'll never go again if I don't know your name."

The boy thought about this. "Then we'll keep you."

"_We'll_? Who else is involved with this?" asked Grace.

The boy was quiet. "My name is Eli."

"Eli? Oh." said Grace. "You said I'll see my mother. Where is she?"

"Quiet. And you'll hear her."

Grace listened carefully. Sure enough, soft singing leaked through the cave. She glanced at Eli, who was also listening.

"Why do you have my mother's voice?"

"She is here." said Eli.

Christine Daaé's Return

Finally, the canoe hit another piece of land. There was a small house built on it and, again, the door was locked. Eli pulled out the key and unlocked the door.

"Father? Christine?" called Eli.

"Come to the kitchen." said a man's voice. "Did you bring her?"

"Yes," said Eli, as he guided Grace through the door, pass a living space, and into a small, tidy kitchen.

The man glanced behind his shoulder and smiled when he saw Grace. "See, Christine? I promised Eli would bring her. _I promised_."

The woman behind the man wasn't looking at Eli and Grace. She was concentrating on chopping onions. "I am not falling for your tricks, Erik." She had curly brown hair that was pulled back by a black bow and a black dress.

"Mother?" Grace softly said.

The woman turned around. "Grace? Erik, did you really...?"

Erik smiled, "Yes. Introducing Grace Daaé, your daughter!"

The woman smiled, bending down to hug a very confused Grace. "Oh...Grace, you look so beautiful! I am so glad you are here."

"You're...my mother?" asked Grace cautiously. "The one that just died this morning?"

"Oh, that. So Mr. Robertson did spread a good lie."

"A lie? Mother, you're...you're not dead? You're not laying in that coffin?"

"The coffin. I wasn't inside of it. Petunia, my sister, was. She died and an old friend took me away to a long-lost place." Christine smiled happily at Erik.

"Why would you leave us, Mother? Father and I?" asked Grace.

"I couldn't stand another tea party with the Queen of England." sighed Christine.

"Well...you're right..."

"_And _your father was pushing me out of the action!"

"I know that, too...I would run away if I had to do another four hour drill!"

"Now you get it, don't you, Grace?" asked Christine.

"Yes." said Grace, feeling as if she had been pulled into a trance.

"We have a permanent bedroom here for you, too." said Erik.

"I'm afraid you want some more...private answers, don't you, Grace?" said Christine.

"Well..." Her eyes fell on Erik, then Eli, and then, finally, Christine. "If you insist."

Christine laid a hand on her daughter's shoulder and led her to a large bedroom. "This is yours."

"Wow." said Grace. The walls were painted black, with a bright white ceiling. A large bed had soft white blankets and pillows. A small stuffed black bear rested on a pillow. There was a large wooden toy chest and a desk, supplied with several types of ink, new quills, and various colored writing paper. Against a wall there was a large fireplace, complete with an obsidian mantel with silver, gold, and bronze decorations. In one corner, was a large mirror, dresser, and bathroom. The bathroom had beautiful black and white tiling, and a another mirror with a silver engraved edge.

"Grace? I need to show you a few helpful things in your room."

Grace nodded, and Christine walked towards the fireplace, and turned a small handle on a box topped with a monkey holding cymbals. Soft music played, the song _Masquerade_. The fireplace's red fire turned silver and the fireplace slowly creaked open, leading to a huge room filled with books.

"A library!" said Grace happily.

"Yes. Erik has read about every play and musical."

Grace started to feel quite relaxed in this small house on the large, chipped rock.

"Mother...will you ever see Papa again?"

"When the time comes."

The Crack in the Mirror

It was almost dawn, as Erik said, so Grace should be heading back to her father. He showed her a crack in the mirror that she should place a small jewel inside of it each night to open a dark, misty passage, which lead to Christine's portrait in Grace's room. Grace never wanted to leave this place, and begged to stay, but she knew her father would be expecting her with a packet of four hour drills of arithmetic. Grace hugged Erik before she left, feeling as if he was her real father, the one who owned every fairytale Grace ever wanted. He also had a music, art, and science room. Grace spent her whole night in the room, playing piano and violin, painting pictures and portraits, and mixing harmless liquids together, into "potions".

"Erik...I don't want to go now...I want to stay with you!"

Erik nodded and said, "Call me father."

He vanished and only left one tiny jewel, which floated up and clicked into the crack. The mirror's glass rippled, and with one last glance of the room, Grace fell into the mirror. The floor was damp and a bit slimy, so Grace's feet felt cold and icy. But, luckily, Erik had placed torches in the passage so then Grace wouldn't feel chilled.

The passage ended and Grace concentrated. Grace heard the portrait shift and she crawled through and straightened it again. She climbed into her bed and soon was asleep.


	2. Wishing

"Won't the little girl wake up?"

_Slap. Slap. Slap. _

I lazily opened one eye. "Unnnhhh?"

"She's awake!" cheered Meg, our maid.

I glanced to my other side, where Polly, a young cat, gazed on out the window.

"Meg," I said, perhaps a little too upset I wasn't lounging the library of Erik's lair.

Meg laid her soft, warm hand on my cheek. "Dearie, why don't I get you some tea...that would help you think straight...remember: your mother is not here."

I grumble a bit. Meg draws back, then softly whispers "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you."

"But she's alive." I say.

"Excuse me?" Meg's long blond hair sweeps into my face when she leans closer.

"I saw her. Just yesterday." I said.

Meg frowns, then smiles a bit. "Yes, in the coffin."

Her hand rests on my lap now. She glances down at it, and her eyes fliat their for a minute, until I grasp her hand and fiercely push it to the side. It tumbles like a dead leaf and stops at the edge of the bed. I hear Meg gulp.

"I. Saw. Her. Alive." I repeat.

Meg's gaze sweeps up and down. "No. You didn't. It was a dream...a nightmare."

"Why would it be a nightmare?" I demand. Her hand started to drift back to my lap, but I grasp it again and force it to the side.

Meg lifted her hand up to her heart. "Just think of your father and I. Together."

I think about it. Meg and Papa...wrong.

"I don't want too." I said.

Meg frowns. "Well then, keep it your way."


End file.
